Jump
by wee kraken
Summary: Tomorrow the end begins. And maybe when I make my choice, I can find the courage to stick out, to be different, to be brave. Four POV one shot, pre-Divergent - the night before Tris falls into his life.


**So. Most of this has been sitting on my hard drive, so I decided to post it as a little pre-release night fun. Except this is actually kind of a depressing one shot, but whatever. This is Four, the night before Tris falls into his life. It's probably my last bit of Four POV, since Allegiant will likely render all my stuff irrelevant. :)**

**I am traveling in another country, and I'll probably be geo-blocked from downloading my pre-order, so I'm going to go hide from all the internet spoilers now. Except for reviews - they would really make my (jet lagged) day.**

**Have fun at midnight, whatever time zone you're in!**

**peace**

**~wk**

* * *

Tomorrow is the beginning of the end.

This is the mantra I've been repeating all day, my face neutral as Eric goads me, as Max shows me how to arm the new simulation software, as I learn how to betray people who don't fit the Dauntless mold. People like me.

It's kept me calm, given me something to cling to, a time in the future where I can regain control over my life and my intentions.

I've been thinking about leaving Dauntless for months, ever since Amar's death. I'm not scared of being factionless – the faction system has never protected me. I'm also not scared of dying, though I refuse to throw my life away. I've invested too much time in trying to survive.

So I'll watch over one more initiate class, my last gasp of idealism, my one sad attempt to lead change from within. Then I'm out of here.

Eric, of course, just keeps reinforcing that decision.

We spend the last meeting of the day arguing about the strength of the simulation serum. The Erudite increased it this year, per the Dauntless leadership's request. More terror. More fear.

I know it was Eric's idea. He can't keep the smirk off of his stupid face when he tells me about it.

"How are they going to cope?" I ask. "They can't just rely on base instinct, or curl up into a ball, or cry. The fear landscape is supposed to help initiates think – to know themselves, to face their fears, to learn how to move past them."

"Yeah? And how well is that working out for you, _Four_?"

I glower at him and say nothing.

"We don't want them to _think_. We want them to _react_."

Eric wants people that will act on instinct, soldiers that will shoot first and never ask questions. This fills me with dread. It's clear that everything I've learned is true. They are building an army – and once they brainwash them enough, they'll set them loose.

"So it's not enough to beat on their bodies. You want to beat their brains into submission, too?" I retort, and he smiles again, the piercings in his upper lip stretching over his teeth.

"Yep. And you're going to help me do it. Because you know better than anyone who doesn't belong."

I almost stand up and quit right there. It isn't the threat. It's too obvious, and toothless - Eric has been gunning for me ever since I ranked first over him. It's the idea that I would help him to save myself.

Well, then he doesn't know me very well. I would rather be Factionless . So I will be.

I stare at Eric until he looks down and cracks his knuckles, a nervous habit he picked up during initiation. His fists are bruised black and blue from workouts, or worse. Meathead hands. Calculating eyes. An ugly combination.

I stand to leave. "You want to make them suffer? Fine. The strong ones will make it. But if anyone ends up at the bottom of the chasm, that's on you."

Eric shrugs, uncaring. "Just make sure you're watching them. Because I'll be watching _you_."

He needs to take a flying leap off a very tall building. Or have a head-on collision with both of my fists.

I need a drink.

I stomp out of Eric's office and take the service elevator down to The Hole, a dingy bar that the leadership wouldn't be caught dead in, the perfect place to find something that will help me forget, or at least let me pass out so I can get some sleep.

"Four!"

Zeke roars my name from the back corner. He's sitting at one end of a long table full of Dauntless-born sixteens. They shouldn't even be in here; they can't drink legally in the compound until after initiation. But tonight everyone will cut them some slack. Tomorrow is Choosing Day.

Coming here was stupid – the last thing I need is to hang out with a bunch of kids who are celebrating choosing this place instead of escaping it. But they've seen me, so it's too late now. I should probably get to know them – I'll be running their fear landscapes after all. I plop down onto a nearby bench and Zeke slams a shot glass down in front of me. It's full of amber colored liquid, and it's smoking.

"What the hell is this? Are you distilling your farts or something?"

"It's a Dauntless shooter, loser!" Zeke says, laughing.

"Yeah, drink up, pansycake!" yells Uriah. The kid is his older brother's polar opposite, tall and lean next to Zeke's stocky muscular frame. Their sense of humor is the only thing they have in common.

I fix him with a cold stare. I like Uriah. But he isn't a member yet.

Zeke slings his arm around his brother. "Oh, lighten up Four. Starting tomorrow, his ass is yours." He glances around the table and his face breaks into an evil grin. "In fact, you better prepare all of your collective asses. Four is going to scare the shit out of you."

"Their shit isn't my problem. I'm training the transfers."

"They're always a bunch of pussies," shouts a guy at the end of table. "We'll kick their butts!"

"Not before I kick yours." The girl's voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see Shauna's little sister, clothed in baggy blacks and combat boots, her head shaved bald.

"Lynn," groans Uriah, "What the hell did you do?"

She shrugs and drops into a seat, scowling. "It was a liability. Now there's less to grab onto."

"There's still plenty of you I'd love to grab," leers the boy across from her, a big brute whose name I've never bothered to learn.

Lynn puts both of her fists on the table and leans into his face. "Say that again. Really. I dare you."

The guy smirks and lunges for her. Lynn grabs one of his arms and twists it. The table erupts into shouts and whistles. Bar fights happen every five minutes in here, but after three hours in Eric's office, I have zero desire to watch a bunch of would-be initiates throw punches. I stand up and slam my knife into the table between them. The blade quivers, but sticks. So does the sudden silence.

"Save it." I say quietly. "You want to fight? You'll get your chance. In two days time, you'll wish you had never learned how."

I look around at the lot of them, fiery girls and baby faced boys, all on the edge of their seats, ready to tear each other apart. That's what they've been told it takes to belong here.

This faction isn't Dauntless. It's heartless.

"Dauntless is about having the courage to stand up for each other, not knocking each other down," I say, louder. Zeke pounds his fist on the table, the traditional Dauntless sign of agreement. The sixteens stare at me, some nodding, some frowning, some slack jawed and drunk. I size them up, and I find them wanting.

"We believe in freedom from fear, in denying fear the power to influence our decisions." I quote, glaring at each one of them. "And you are afraid. Every single one of you is terrified. You should be."

I watch their faces turn defensive, angry. I know I'm upsetting them, and I don't care. I wrench my knife out of the wood and slip it back in my belt.

"Think about that before you choose."

I grab the smoking shot glass and gulp the liquid down, savoring the burn in my throat. As I turn and walk out of the bar, I hear Zeke start to laugh, breaking the silence.

"That, my friends," he says, "is why you should never call a transfer a pussy."

* * *

The end, the end, the end, the end. I can hear the words repeating in the spinning train wheels already as I climb the path to the Pire. I whisper them to myself as I head out into the night, jumping onto the final car.

I meant what I said in there. They are scared, and not just the sixteens. The Dauntless are terrified of being cowards, of giving into fear. They cheat death so they can pretend it will never claim them. They deny age so they don't have to fear the future.

Most of them don't know the secret. To be truly brave, first you must admit that you aren't. You descend into hell, and think your way out – and when all else fails, you fight.

This is what I will do, on this final night before the end begins. No simulations, no serums. I need to face fear, and it needs to be real.

The train turns downtown, and I launch myself out of the car, landing hard on the gravel beside the tracks. I know where I'm going, though I've never been here before. Zeke has told me about it so many times, I could find my way to the Hancock building with my eyes closed.

I don't bother to turn the generator on; I choose the stairs. A hundred floors, breathing in rhythm with my footsteps, quiet memories of grey.

The rooftop is another matter entirely. The wind makes me gasp, and even nowhere near the edge, my heart starts pounding. Small beads of sweat start to drip down the curve of my spine.

I walk past a couple making out in the shadows, and I see them break apart as I pick up a harness and put it on with shaking fingers.

"Hey man, do you need some help? People don't usually do this alone."

I don't turn around, and my voice hisses savagely, the only way I can hide the fear.

"Do I look like I need help?"

I hear rather than see them retreat down the stairway, whispering. Even for a Dauntless, I must seem unhinged, and I probably am, to be hitching myself up to a cable, alone in the dark and the wind and the cold.

I hook in the carabiner and step onto the ledge, breathing hard. I let the harness hold my weight, because my legs are starting to fail. Then I look down. I am a thousand feet up. It is too dark to see the ground.

I can't do this.

I close my eyes and inhale. I let the breath out with a groan, then a scream.

I have to do this.

I came here to jump, to embrace my choice, to launch myself into the unknown. No syringes. No hallucinations. My fear exists; I can't ignore it. I came here to feel real.

And my reality is ugly. I am a coward. I am not worthy of my faction. I chose it because I was afraid. And every time I cower in front of my father in my fear landscape, I am still running scared.

Tomorrow the end begins. And maybe when I make my choice, I can find the courage to stick out, to be different, to be brave.

I straighten up and look out over the city skyline, a horizon of ruined shadows. The sky holds a harsh, icy moon. I take my hands off the cable and throw them out to the side. I will my legs to stop trembling.

I jump.

And I feel.


End file.
